


Letters

by trollopfop (storyinmypocket)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-10
Updated: 2009-07-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:09:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyinmypocket/pseuds/trollopfop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A pair of letters found in Ianto's flat, post-CoE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captain Jack Harkness

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted in my Ianto RP journal as a way to deal with the events of Children of Earth. People found it, and seemed to like it. Someone nominated it for a Children of Time award, though I was too busy being stunned by that to ever get around to accepting the nomination. (Oops.) So, after some thought, I decided to go ahead and post it here, for all that it's hard for me to think of this as a proper fic.

Jack,

This is a bit awkward, isn't it? If you're reading this, it means you're going through my things. And the most likely reason for you to be doing that is because I'm dead. That, or you're just snooping, in which case, PUT THIS DOWN, JACK. This isn't for you. Not yet. I'll be saying things in here which... I don't think you're going to want to talk about. And since these are both sealed, I will notice, and if I'm still around, we _will_ talk, so do yourself a favour and stop reading now.

Tosh did this with a video, but you know me, Jack: I've always found simple text easier. In a lot of ways, Tosh was braver than I am. And that's all right. I've had plenty of time to get used to my own limitations.

Right, now on to the important things: I love you. More than I ever thought possible, and I think that if I'm going to regret anything about being dead, it's the fact that I won't be around to make sure you're all right. You'll be thinking something now about how you're always all right, the man who can't die, but we both know that isn't true, and it isn't even what I'm talking about, so tell that internal voice to just _be quiet_ for one moment and take this in.

...I'm not usually so pushy, but if you're still reading this, I'm dead, and I think I have a right to be paid attention to in that case.

Whatever's happened... It was worth it, Jack. Believe it, because as far as I know, nothing's going to change my mind. Not about this, or about you.

I never set out to fall in love with you. And, I'll be painfully honest here -- you killed Lisa. And when you and I started sleeping together, I thought it was because I had nothing left to lose. I thought nothing could hurt me anymore, because there was nothing, _I_ was nothing, without her.

But you were something, Jack. You became everything. And every moment I've lived since then, every moment I've ever felt alive, instead of like a dead man going through the motions, has been because of you.

This is all so melodramatic, isn't it? Do you see why I told you to put this down, earlier? I don't think I could deal with the embarrassment of you knowing, if I was still around.

I've always been afraid, deep down, that I wouldn't be enough for you. And I wanted to be, but that's not how you are. I couldn't be enough, Gwen couldn't be enough, and I think I've made my peace with that. It would be enough, I think, to know that I was _something_. Was I? It's one of the things we never talk about. You and me, and how much this means, if it means anything at all.

I wish I'd had a chance to really know you. I wish I could've done more for you, wish I could've helped with the things that I know eat away at you. No matter how much you might pretend otherwise, no one can be as old as you are and see the things you've seen and not have something eating away at them. Not even you. And I think we both know better, anyway.

But now we come to the most important thing, other than the standard instructions for Hub maintenance (on my computer, and backed up on the central servers -- I know you know all that needs to be done, but you'll be distracted with one emergency or another, and before you know it, there will be things growing in the coffeemaker that have developed language and social structures, so I've made a list for whoever replaces me).

I don't want you to forget me. That's something that scares me more than anything else, the thought that I really am nothing to you. In ten years, a thousand, ten thousand, I think eventually you'll forget me. And I hate that. But more than that... Like I said before, I know you, Jack. One person will never be enough for you. And I know Gwen is going to try to hold things together if she's still alive, because she's just as in love with you as I am. Don't push her away, and don't let her be the only one. Find yourself someone else, as many people as it takes, but don't cut yourself off just because I'm gone.

I know it has to hurt, every time one of us dies. But it's no reason to stop caring. I've seen what happens when you try: it's what let me sneak a Cyber Conversion Unit into the basement of the Hub. And from what I've come to see of you, it isn't _you,_ Jack. Not really.

Don't forget me, but don't use me as a reason to become that again. _Please._

I hope I died doing something good, something important. Even dead, I know I'd feel a complete arse if I slipped and fell in the shower or something equally asinine.

If I died in the line of duty... I did it willingly. I knew what I was getting into. I'd be an idiot not to. And, again, _it was worth it._ Because I'm Torchwood, and this is what we do. I've seen the records. I've seen how few Torchwood 3 personnel live to a comfortable old age.

I would have liked to grow old with you beside me, even if you never grew any older yourself, but I know how unlikely that is. And I wouldn't have asked for that even if I could, because it wouldn't be fair to you. But I can wish, and I can dream, and I can hope you'll never have to see this, that I'll be ninety years old and retired from active duty and maybe you'll still appear on my doorstep every now and again.

Ridiculous, isn't it? Especially with so much that's still unsaid as of this writing. But it doesn't matter. I'm saying it now, and maybe you'll read this and know, beyond all doubt, that I _do_ love you.

I worry, Jack. I worry that you'll pull away from the world, and I worry that you won't, because I didn't mean enough for you to even think of doing it. I worry that there'll be no one to have your coat dry-cleaned, that you'll have egg on your collar and the paperwork in disarray and you'll be drinking Starbucks coffee. (And if you even think of that, I swear to you I'll come back and haunt the Hub and make the coffeemaker spew hot water all over the counters. And you'll have to clean it up, because if you don't, I'll be cross with you, and even if you don't believe in ghosts, you still don't want me dead and cross with you, do you? Starbucks _burns their coffee beans,_ Jack, and they don't know a thing about the optimum brewing temperature for flavour extraction without also extracting the bitter oils that make coffee taste like _shit,_ and do you see what I mean? You're hopeless about these things.)

If there's anything left of me, even if it's just a speck of consciousness in the darkness, I'm going to miss you, and I'm going to worry. You made me happy at a time when I thought happiness was impossible, and there's nothing I can ever do that will be enough to repay you for that, but I keep trying. Up until the moment I die, I'll still be doing everything I can to make you a little happier. To make you proud of me. To balance the scales in some small way.

It seems like I could have forever with you and it still wouldn't be enough. But, lacking infinite time, I did my best with what I had. I can only hope it made a difference.

I don't know what else to say here.

Take care of yourself. And if you can't do that, find someone else to take care of you. You deserve as much, Jack. Don't argue. Arguing with the dead is essentially pointless, anyway. People will worry, and might try to have you committed if you keep it up, and I won't be around to deal with the nice men at the institution for you. Best avoid the whole thing, really.

I'm not sure about how to close this. "Love" seems too cliché, no matter how much I do, in fact, love you. "Sincerely" is too formal. And it shouldn't require a word at the close of a letter to let you know that I'm yours. Now and forever.

So, as always, I remain

Ianto Jones


	2. Gwen Cooper

Gwen,

It's hard, knowing what to write here. Jack's letter was hard enough, and now this...

Standard opening: If you're reading this, I'm dead.

Look after Jack.

No, really. Look after him, for all that he'll try to convince you not to. And take care of yourself, though, knowing Jack, he'll be beside himself trying to do just that. You know as well as I do that it's his way, trying to fix everyone in the world but himself. DO NOT LET HIM DO THAT.

I won't presume to guess at what I really mean to him, but even if I was just a member of his team that he fucked sometimes, he'll take it badly. You know. You were there, after Owen and Tosh. Don't let him pull away from people. And don't take it the wrong way if he deals with things by shagging half the population of Cardiff... that's his way, too, and I doubt anything either of us can do would change that. It doesn't mean he cares for you any less; he's absolutely mad for you, and I'd have to be blind or stupid not to see that.

I've never pried into how you deal with it, given your feelings for Jack and your feelings for Rhys. And don't try to deny any of the above: _I'm dead,_ so it would just be silly of you.

But I don't envy you, having to make sense of that. And I can only hope Rhys will eventually understand how these things work... It's Torchwood, and it's Jack, and nothing around here is typical. But however you sort this out, try to be there for him, would you? If you're reading this, it's obvious that I can't, and it's going to drive me mad, even beyond the grave, if he doesn't have anyone to lean on.

Stop bringing Starbucks into the Hub. I know it's you, and if I'm not there to make coffee for the both of you, I'd at least appreciate it if you'd bring in something palatable. There's a place just around the corner from my flat that's not too awful, all things considered. Just not Starbucks, for the love of _God,_ Gwen.

Remember to feed Myfanwy. Her diet consists mostly of fish... Sometimes, if you like, you can bring in some lamb as a special treat. Just not too much. A spoilt pterodactyl does no one any good.

Make sure Jack hires someone who can make decent coffee, but don't let them take the coffeemaker apart. It might explode. Yes, I'm serious. There's alien technology in there, and only God and Tosh know what else.

And look in on my sister, if you can: the name's Rhiannon Davies, and her address is in my file. You don't have to make friends, or say anything at all, really, but make sure she's all right, and that she gets what money I have saved up, as well as anything my life insurance might cough up for her. And if you can get my DVD collection away from Jack before it gets locked away, try and send her the Bond films. I have a niece and nephew who are woefully uneducated in the wonders of Sir Sean Connery as 007.

It hasn't always been easy, knowing how Jack feels about you, but, again, this is Torchwood. And, in the end, I can only commend him on his taste. You're a lovely, charming woman, and in some ways I've come to consider you family. We've been a strange, dysfunctional little family here, but it is what it is.

Yes, this is all a bit awkward. However, unlike Jack, I don't have to worry about you snooping through my things and finding this letter until after I'm gone, so I can at least rest easily knowing that I've had the last word. (You can picture a smiley face here, if it'll make you feel better. The intent is there, even if I'm spectacularly uninterested in actually rendering one. It seems a bit undignified, for my last words.)

If there's anything left of me to miss you, I will. You're the best hope any of us at Torchwood have for remaining human. It was why Jack hired you in the first place, and you've done that job admirably. And although this job typically comes with a short life expectancy, if any of us can make it to the age of retirement, it'll be you. I hope it is. You deserve a long, happy life, Gwen, with plenty of children and grandchildren which you are absolutely _forbidden_ to let Jack recruit. Torchwood has a habit of collecting people who are broken in one way or another, and no child of yours should ever have to fall into that category. Torchwood also has a habit of collecting people who are far too persistent for their own good, you yourself being a case in point. With that, I can't help you. I only hope genetics will be kind to any potential children of yours in that respect.

You've told me what Suzie said about what happens after death. I can't vouch for its accuracy, and by the time I can, I won't be able to tell you. But if there's any chance of me seeing Tosh and Owen again, I'll be sure to give them your love. And maybe I'll see you again, but not, I hope, for a good long time.

We still need a doctor. Be sure to talk to Jack about trying to tempt Martha Jones away from UNIT again; I liked her, and she'd be good for you both, I think.

Oh, and I've left a list of what needs to be done around the Hub. You can find a backup on the central server: just search for "HUB MAINTENANCE.doc". I've mentioned it in my letter to Jack, but you know what he's like. _You_, at least, I can trust to get things done.

You'll be all right, Gwen. I know it may not seem like it now, but I've worked with you. You're strong enough to bear up under this, and you'll be part of what makes Torchwood better than it was before.

Don't you dare give up. Not because of me, not because of anything. You're better than that.

Would it be taken the wrong way if I told you I love you?

I do.

\- Ianto


End file.
